


Sparks

by king3rosie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, More tags to be added as I go I suspect, Slow Burn, ravenclaw au, somewhat canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22369306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/king3rosie/pseuds/king3rosie
Summary: He was cold. He was cruel, and never smiled. He looked more like a ghost than a boy, even at 11. He never looked you in the eye. The boy was broken, damaged somehow. Hermione remembered his bragging on the train, “I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all my family has been, since Hogwarts opened—“What cruel irony, the blue and bronze around his neck.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

He was cold. He was cruel, and never smiled. He looked more like a ghost than a boy, even at 11. He never looked you in the eye. The boy was broken, damaged somehow. Hermione remembered his bragging on the train, “I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all my family has been, since Hogwarts opened—“

What cruel irony, the blue and bronze around his neck.

Magic was glorious, she thought. Like a dream upon a dream. Old paintings with new life, smiling and laughing in the corners of the common room, sharing stories with her enthused yearmates;

“Oh not ANOTHER Turpin,” a painting of a skeletal older woman exclaimed, “I’ve hardly gotten retouched since that blasted boy! Always practicing, waving his damned wand without looking where it was pointing—“

“Oh cool yourself, Fancourt,” a grumpy wrinkled man exclaimed from the frame next to hers, “the lad was only trying to learn! Feel no shame for your heritage, darling, it’s only natural to experiment in this House.” He winked at the shaky girl below him with a twinkle in his eye, and begun listing off some of the previous Turpin’s triumphs.

“Why, when your great grandfather was in his first year, he spent all night on the roof of the tower, tracking the stars. Some say the movement led him to discover the proper swish and flick of a Leviosa! I know better though, come closer.“

He beckoned the girl, Lisa if Hermione remembered properly, right up to the edge of his frame. He leaned down and put a hand by his mouth, and whispered conspirately at her.

“I was the head of house that year myself, and you know what I saw when I found him up there? Drool!” He laughed loudly, “The poor boy fell asleep up there! Brilliant wizard I do say though—“

Hermione stopped listening to the old man in the walls ramble on. The common room was alive and bustling; ghosts, flurrying through excited to meet the new students, trunks zipping through the air as the older years got settled, children gathering around the fire as some of the Seventh years shared tips on how to navigate the coming school year.

A red haired teen with more freckles than skin was hugging a first year with dark hair and glistening eyes. “It’s okay hun,” he spoke softly, “I know what it’s like to have a twin in another house. Feels like worlds apart, huh?”

She nodded, and the tears began to run tracks down her full cheeks. “We’ve—we’ve never been apart much before, not like this—I miss her—what if she forgets about me?! What if she makes new friends and I’m just there wearing her face and missing—missing her! What if we aren’t close, what if we stop knowing eachother! She’s— she’s half of me— I can’t— I have—“ She sobbed, and the words stopped coming.

“Oh hun, your sister is probably on the other side of the castle right now, sobbing the same words into my brother’s ear. But I’ll tell you what,” he crouched down, leveling his face with hers, “Georgie will look after her over there, and I’ll watch over you here. And it’ll be hard, Merlin knows I cried my eyes out for the first month without him. But I still see him every day, all the time in fact.” He wiped a tear off her cheek, and she sniffled pitifully. “You’ll see her at meals, you’ll see her in doubles, you’ll spend more time with her than you may think. The only time you don’t spend with her will be spent asleep, okay? And it’ll be hard to fall asleep at first, without hearing her a bed away, but you’ll manage. After all,” he stood tall and put his hands on his hips in an exaggerated Superman pose, “Twins are absolute. Inseparable. If a different room could break you two down, you’d have different faces, different hearts, now wouldn’t you?”

Hermione sighed contentedly. This wasn’t like her boarding school back at home. This was family, family wrapped up in a magical bow. She watched the older students show her classmates some impressive tricks, giggled at the pretty sparks raining down around her. This would be good, so much better than home. After all, she was a witch, she had magic in her blood. That bound her to these children more than anything had ever bound her to her Muggle classmates. She could forget the bullying, forget the teasing, she could read and learn and voraciously enjoy every moment of this new experience safely. She was among her own people now, and things would be different.

But why did that boy look so sad?

She had to do something about it. Didn’t he see what beauty was happening here? How could he look so cruel when he was among such joy? She walked over to his corner chair, just out of reach of the fire’s warmth.

“I’m Hermione, Hermione Granger,” she stared, mustering up the most cheerful smile she could. “And you are?”

He looked at her with such vitriol, her blood ran cold, and spoke sharply. “Better than you.”

“Oh— I mean, I’m sure, I’m new to all this a— and I’ve only just learned and— but isn’t it all just wonderful?”

“Don’t bother, mudblood.” The common room fell silent. “I’m not meant to be here, don’t try to make friends. I’ll be moving to Slytherin as soon as my father hears. Malfoys have been in Slytherin since the school opened— not that sharing a house would make me any more likely to be friends with your type.”

The freckled boy from earlier grew pink to his ears, and started walking towards them.

“I’m a witch, good as you!” Hermione blustered, ashamed for something she didn’t quite understand, “I’m clever, and quick, I’ll be just fine here! What I don’t understand is how you can sit there, skulking around, while you pout and moan because you didn’t get the room you wanted in a magical castle filled with kind and excited people ready to welcome you with open arms! Just— just try not to let your sour taste rub off on my evening, okay! If you’re so determined to be miserable, be miserable here surrounded by wonder and watch as I’m the last person who tries to be your friend!”

His pointed nose turned pink, and he scrunched it up into a sneer. “Better alone than prancing about with a Muggle, honestly!”

“Hey— hey! Cool it, twerp!” The ginger put his arm around Hermione, and led her away from the angry, rotten boy in his armchair.

“Don’t take it personally, he’s been raised in a den of snakes. Hard to stomach when your father finds out you’re not made of the same stuff!” His voice carried over the now quiet room, and the blonde crossed his arms and turned away towards the fire.

“Now, kids! It’s about bedtime, huh? Got an early day tomorrow, books to be read, classes to attend, such and such. Go sleep!” He announced, and the common room flew back into a bustle as the younger years all started to clamber towards their new rooms.

“I hope he’s okay,” Hermione mused, more to herself than to the teen before her.

“He’ll get on fine once he settles in I’m sure. Don’t you worry your bushy little head, hun.”

“Hey!” She exclaimed, smacking at his hand with a smile, “it’s not my head that’s bushy, it’s just the outlying...areas.”

“Oh shush,” he said with a good natured grin. “Get to bed, Hermione. Im Fred. And I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, yeah? Breakfast is something you don’t want to miss!”

She scampered off towards the stairs, only pausing for a moment to look back at the pale boy in the armchair. He had to settle in. He just had to. She didn’t want to spend her life here as bullied as she was before.

Draco Malfoy sat, stewing in his armchair. A muggle girl, with sparks in her hair? Really? His father would sort this out, get him back where he belonged. He couldn’t be the first Malfoy to be anything but Slytherin. He couldn’t be. He couldn’t have failed at simply wearing a hat, right? ‘Settle in.’ He most certainly would not. And he didn’t.

For 5 years.

And then? The muggle girl with sparks in her hair and a glint in her eyes caught him sulking in an armchair again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So I’ve decided to sort this out as a full story. I’ve got a plot arc written up for 33 chapters. I’m excited to see where it goes, but yaknow. Still nervous. 
> 
> Draco is a prick. He’s a friendless prick, really. Too much angst not enough attention. 
> 
> I am trying to keep things as canon compliant as possible while shifting houses around, so just assume that Hermione still became friends with the boys, adventures still happened, just with... slightly less sneaking out and less of a Slytherin posse. They’re still there, just headed by Blaise Zabini and less bothersome. 
> 
> To be honest, the only reason Fred is in Ravenclaw is because i always felt real bad for the Patil twins, and I figured if they had another twin to coach them through the first initial separation it would go a lot smoother. He’s just there because I want him there, but that’s the fun of fanfic! 
> 
> Things pick up shortly, this just throws us into the “present” aka about November of their sixth year. 
> 
> There’s brief Ron moments, but no bashing, and it’ll fade naturally into a Draco story in a few chapters. Several chapters. Oops.

“Draco BLOODY Malfoy you ABSOLUTE wretch!” She screamed as she marched down the stairs into the main common room. 

“Oh darling, you know I hate it when you go so...shrill” he stated, not even drawing his eyes from the fire before him. 

“How DARE you!? How could you!? Did you REALLY get some SLAG to sneak into my DORM!? Look— LOOK AT ME YOU WANKER!” she screeched, her wand pointed at a very unenthused Malfoy. 

He looked up, and a ghost of a smirk crossed his face before it vanished back behind his cold mask. His eyes turned back to the fire as he spoke again. 

“I assure you, I wouldn’t waste my ‘slags’ on lighting your hair up, Granger. Not when a simple spell would do the trick. Not my handiwork, I’m afraid.” 

And oh, the sparks in her hair paled in comparison to the fire in her eyes. He wasn’t even listening! Not rising to her challenge, hardly slinging an insult back. He seemed as if he hadn’t registered her presence in the slightest. 

“No.” She leaned forward, dangerously close, and grabbed him by the chin. Hermione pulled his face close to hers, a hair's breadth away, and glared fire directly in his eyes. “You tell me exactly what you did to my shampoo. You tell me now. You tell me how to fix—“ 

“Don’t—“ he slapped her hands away, “—touch me, please. I’d like to remain unsullied.”

She saw red. 

Her wand clattered to the floor as she leapt, swinging back her fist and clocking him right in the jaw. His mask, cool and calculated, slid away to make path for cold fury. 

“How. Dare you. I told you after third year—“ 

“—third year, yeah? When you cried in your dorm for two days because—“ 

“—NEVER AGAIN, I told you NEVER AGAIN to lay a FINGER—“

“—oh BOO HOO—“

“Hermione?” 

Luna floated down the stairs, concern twisting her gentle face. 

Hermione panicked and backed a pace away from Malfoy, dropping to her knee and scrabbling for her wand. 

“It’s nothing Luna, nothing I can’t handle,” She stated, glaring up at the armchair demon who was back to staring intently at the fire, “I was just teaching Malfoy to keep his tricks out of my dorm.” 

Malfoy grunted from the fire, a crimson mark blossoming on his jaw. “All you taught me is how psychotic you happen to be today, Granger. Falling to blows over nothing? Brains over brawn fell on deaf ears for you, didn’t it?” 

“Oh no,” Luna sighed, sweeping Hermione away from the git, “did Ron’s charm not work right? He was so excited too, the Billywarts were dancing around him so happily..” She sighed again, frowning slightly and lifting her wand to Hermione’s temple. “Oh, give me just a moment here,” she pleaded. 

“Ro— wait, Ron’s charm?” Hermione asked in shock. 

“See, I TOLD you I didn’t do it, you deaf witch,” Malfoy muttered, more to himself than anything. 

“Oh sod off Malfoy!” Hermione exclaimed. 

“He knew you were insecure about your hair, see, so he tried to charm your shampoo to sparkle. So you’d feel as pretty as you should, he said. He begged me to sneak it in for him, I couldn’t say no. Aguamenti!” 

Hermione was shocked by a jet of cold water, drenching her hair and dripping down her back. The sparking stopped, but if the snorts from the armchair were anything to judge by, the ‘drowned cat’ aesthetic wasn’t much better. 

“Why would he think I was insecure about my hair?” Hermione loved her hair. Sure, it refused to be tamed, and it got in her face some days, but it was unique, and a part of her. She didn’t much care for image, but her hair was something she took pride in. 

“Maybe the overall rats nest appearance?” Malfoy stated snidely from his chair, “Or maybe he just wanted to see if there was any beauty under that beast—“

“SHOVE it, you ferret!” 

“Hermione, dinner will be over soon. If you don’t eat, the Skiermings will roost in your bones.” Luna shook her head, rattling the dainty maple seed earrings she had been sporting that week, and led her gently towards the door. 

She turned and walked with Luna towards the portrait, sparing a glance back at Malfoy as she left. He sat leaning forward with his head in his hands, the anger from earlier gone from his eyes. What was left was just… empty. It was slightly disconcerting to see. Not indifference, not boredom, but empty, as if his eves were just unseeing voids. 

Draco waited until he heard the door latch shut behind him before pulling the letter out from the crack in the chair. ‘He’s back,’ it read, in the flowing script, ‘You must prove you’re a snake. And a Malfoy. You don’t want to displease us again. Second chances aren’t frequently given. You will be required to appear soon.’ 

He didn’t come down for dinner. Food held no value for him anymore. He had bigger things to attend to. 

Hermione plopped down between Ginny and Luna at the Gryffindor table. She was a regular there, as they were at hers. 

“Gee, ‘Mione, what happened?” Ron asked as her still dripping hair threatened to drown the biscuits. His mouth was full of food, but that didn’t hold him back. 

“I got into a fistfight with a ferret because SOMEone decided my hair needed to sparkle, if you must know!” She was in an awful mood, and regret for accosting Malfoy without cause niggled at the back of her mind. 

Ron choked on a bite of pudding. “You— agh— you okay? If he hurt you I’ll—“ 

“I’m fine, Ronald. He didn’t touch me.” She sighed. “He didn’t even really acknowledge me until I hit him, honestly.” 

Harry chimed in, “You hit the ferret? Again? Damn, ‘Mione, you gotta let us know in advance about that sort of stuff.” 

The guys laughed, and Ginny rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh yes Harry, I’m sure she planned it all out for days in advance. If you just followed the homework planner she gave you, you’d have seen the chunk laid out for assaulting the twit WEEKS ago!” 

“Trust a Ravenclaw to schedule a beating,” Ron snorted into more pudding, “Really though, are you alright? He gets under your skin too easily, I don’t trust him.” 

“As if you should trust him, with his dad in Azkaban last year on our heads and his lovely boss rising from the grave, I’d bet my last Knut he’s got some scheme in store for us.” Harry darted glances suspiciously around the room, centering around the far corner of the Ravenclaw table where Malfoy usually sat. 

“Honestly boys, I’m fine. I don’t think he has any sort of scheming to do this year, really. He’s a git, but I doubt he’s in too far with that crowd. His own father turned his back after he got sorted, and all his friends from before haven’t looked his way in years,” Hermione shuddered at the thought of a hat breaking bonds 11 years deep. “After how they treated him when he got Ravenclaw? I certainly wouldn’t be lining up to fight that fight.” 

She remembered the howler he received, two days into their first school year. Swearing left and right his father would put him in Slytherin where he belonged, she still remembered with vivid clarity the look on 11 year old Malfoy's face when he opened the howler to his father’s amplified voice saying “Lie in the bed you’ve made.” None of his childhood friends made eye contact after that. Some of the more brutish Slytherins even bullied him, claiming he was a disgrace, a failure. Worse. She had stuck up for him a couple times, but the verbal lashings he gave to anyone that looked at him was enough to steer her clear of any good deeds on his behalf. 

She picked at a chicken salad, separating the lettuce from meat with her fork. “I don’t think we have much to worry about from him this year. We just have to stay focused. Harry, you’ve been meeting with Dumbledore, haven’t you?” 

“Uh, yeah. Saw Slughorn turn into an armchair at one point. That was… interesting. We need to look into— actually, can we meet somewhere safer to discuss things?” 

“Good idea. Library tomorrow?” 

“Hermione, just because you’re a Ravenclaw doesn’t mean you have to live in the library, yaknow,” Ron quipped. She looked up sharply from her lettuce mess, ready to fire back, but caught the teasing gleam in his eye. Ron was a lot of things, but he really did care. Even if he had absurd, rude, fire starting ways of showing it. Her eyes softened a touch, and she grinned guiltily back at him. 

“Library works for me,” Ginny stated calmly. Her brows were drawn with worry, Harry didn’t often call for private discussions unless things were serious. 

Luna hummed, “Mmmmmnope, I spend tomorrow checking the puddles. Mother used to tell me certain fresh puddles contained portals to the Fae realm. But I wasn’t invited to begin with, so that shouldn’t bother you too much. I’ll ask the Fae for hints, if I see them!” She smiled dreamily and batted at something only she could see. 

“Luna, the sky has been clear for 3 days,” Hermione stated slowly, “There won’t be any puddles.”

Luna just batted her eyes for a moment, and stood up to leave.

Harry stared at her for a moment, then snapped back to Ginny. “Tomorrow after lunch?” 

“Sure.” 

They stood to leave the Great Hall, plates vanishing before them. 

Ron paused for a moment by the table. “Hey ‘Mione?” He called, letting the others walk ahead. 

“Yeah?” Her heart skipped a beat as he looked up at her, running his fingers through his hair. 

“Do you maybe wanna, y’know, help me with my charms essay tomorrow?” 

She sighed. But he gave her that goofy grin, the one that threw her heart off kilter, and she nodded. 

“But you have to do it yourself! I’m not writing this one for you!” 

Sometimes it felt like the only thing they kept her around for was her intelligence. Professor puzzles first year, basilisk second year, it was easy to see they needed a Ravenclaw like her around if they had any hope at surviving the darkness looming on the horizon. She may not be brave, or fast, but she was smart. She could help them get caught up with school, if only so they could focus on saving the world.


	3. Chapter 3

It was raining heavily. The castle echoed with the sound of thunder from outside. Slughorn relaxed into his chair behind the desk, and Hermione thought he did very much resemble an armchair at times. She snorted to herself, pulling out her textbook as he finished speaking. 

“But be warned, Amortentia is incapable of creating real love. A strong infatuation, a severe obsession, sure, but no magic from Light or Dark can recreate real and true love. It’s a dangerous potion, but one you’re required to know for your NEWTs. Pair up everybody, pair up, and let’s get started for the day!” He waved his wand and opened the door to the supply cupboard, setting his hands snugly back atop his belly. 

Malfoy slid into the seat next to her, as he always did for partner projects. Nobody else would have him, and they had worked in silence for 5 years. Some sort of potion centralized truce had sprung up halfway through their first year when she saw him struggling to keep the cauldron stirring and chop up ingredients simultaneously. He refused her help for two weeks, but after setting himself on fire and getting ridiculed by his godfather he grudgingly allowed her to help. She didn’t mind his presence within the walls of the Potions classroom, he was silent for the most part and worked quickly. 

They sat in a tense silence as they did every potions class, alternating readying the ingredients and tending to the cauldron. Hermione stirred the mixture before her slowly, counter clockwise 4 turns, then clockwise for 3. 

“I do feel bad, you know,” she spoke softly after a while, “for hitting you. I don’t really know what came over me. You didn’t— I shouldn’t have done that.” 

“I’m aware,” Malfoy responded dryly, his nimble fingers upon the knife; the peppermint before him sliced cleanly into ribbons. “You don’t usually act like a Gryffindor, all muscles and show without any thought behind it. Your little boyfriend must be a bad influence on you.” 

“He’s not— I’m just under a lot of stress,” she sighed, “but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry, is all I mean. It won’t happen again.” 

“See to it,” he sniffed, sliding the peppermint into the fire and taking the ladle from her. “I don’t enjoy being the Golden Girl’s punching bag.” 

They slipped back into silence as she focused on crushing the moisture out of the rose petals before her. Potions often passed without more than a single word being spoken, the uneasy truce from the beginning preserved through the still. She often felt as she did the first time he sat beside her, as if she spoke too loud or moved too quickly he would dart and run like a spooked cat. He looked like it too, in the beginning. Hair slicked back, eyes wide. It took a month before he stopped his hands from shaking. He was a cruel child, a cold man, but he knew when he was beaten, and she knew when she was needed. They would wage wars in the halls, but within the damp walls of the dungeon, they had always managed to put the petty bitterness on hold. 

His hands didn’t shake now. They moved with a steady purpose, switching the ladle back to her possession as he reached for the next ingredient to prepare. 

He could practically see her hair growing as she sat over the cauldron, stirring the brew patiently while he pinned down the centipedes and skillfully chopped them into cubed lengths. Four counter clockwise, three clockwise. Each cycle took exactly thirty five seconds to complete, rest for 15, and back to the gentle stirring. As he brushed the centipede cubes into the potion, she removed the ladle and sat back. 5 minutes of rest before the final ingredient. 

She pulled a bit of parchment towards her, and began scribbling notes so fast the ink seemed to blur as it left her quill. He glanced over her paper, slightly amused by her predictability. ‘...centipede…clear as water but without scent…’ 

Of course she needed to track the progress. It wouldn’t do to forget exactly how every step was performed. Who knows, in a life or death situation, wand to her head, someone might ask her if Amortentia turned clear before or after the five minute rest period! He scoffed. The mental image of the Dark Lord, pinning her down and making her recite potion making from memory was just too damn good. She’d answer correctly, of course. But he’d kill her anyways. 

He would kill anyone. For any reason. Unhinged. His mouth felt dry as the mental scene playing out before him ceased to be funny. Anxious for something to focus on other than...that, he grabbed the moonstone, placing it gently within the mortar, and began to grind it into dust. 

Hermione placed the now-filled piece of parchment back in her book bag, picking up the ladle once more. “Slowly, Malfoy,” she reminded cautiously. Adding the moonstone all at once would cause a chemical imbalance, lighting the whole cauldron on fire. He rolled his eyes passively, and gently sprinkled it in as she stirred slowly. 

At first, she was nervous. After the moonstone was added, it should begin to release a person-specific smell, whatever they find the most attractive. The moonstone glimmered within the liquid, giving it the marked mother-of-pearl sheen, but no scent. Her breath caught. Had they bungled it somehow, along the way? But she had been so careful! And he, he always caught her mistakes before she had a chance to mess anything up. Malfoy’s watchful eyes didn’t miss a thing. So why didn’t it work? 

One more deep breath, and there it was. Faintly, but growing stronger as she let the potion rest, arose a scent of cedar wood. As it grew, she noticed cinnamon as well. She sighed contentedly. It worked fine. 

Slughorn heaved himself out of his chair and waddled over, vial in hand. “Excellent work Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy. Excellent work indeed! Twenty points! Why, keep practicing and you two could quickly become the best in your year!” 

Malfoy scrunched his brow, citrus swirling through his head as he spoke, “Pardon Professor, but we usually are. Best in our year, you know.” 

“Ah, no doubt!” Slughorn said passively, as if he didn’t quite believe it. “You two are certainly skilled— but that Potter boy! Ah, he has his mother’s gift for potions, it seems. You two will have your work cut out for you catching up to him this year!” 

“P—Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, thinking back on the dozens of essays written at the last minute, his name over her words. “Are you— I mean— Well, Professor Snape never really was fair to him…” 

She trailed off glumly, looking down at her near perfect potion in disappointment. Slughorn simply chuckled to himself and extracted a sample for his vial, vanishing the remainder with a swoop of his wand. As he wandered on to check on the other students, Malfoy leaned in. 

“Don’t worry about it too much there Granger, everyone knows you’ve written every essay he’s ever done. If anything, this is a testament to your teaching skills, right?” 

She nodded glumly, hardly registering his words. The comforting smell of cedar had faded away into the background, and with it, her feeling of accomplishment. Her book bag crammed full of parchment and textbooks, she threw the heavy thing over her shoulder and headed out towards the library. The others wouldn’t be there until after lunch, but she didn’t feel much like eating right now. Right now she needed a moment of quiet, away from Malfoy’s focused eyes and Harry’s somber importance. She just needed to be by herself and prepare for the darkness to come. Silent, secret meetings were never a positive sign. 

“Muffliato”, Harry cast under his breath, spinning his wand in a rough circle around the small group gathered at the table. Neville bounced his leg nervously, glancing around at the other students. 

“What was that?” Hermione questioned the spell almost immediately. It was rare to find a spell she hadn’t heard of.

“It’s a silencing charm,” Harry responded, “anyone within the bubble can hear eachother, but to anyone outside it’s completely silent. They won’t hear a word we’re saying, even if they’re right on top of us.” 

Hermione hummed discontentedly to herself. Harry seemed more Ravenclaw than she did these days. 

“Okay, so what did you drag us here for?” Ron spoke loudly, trusting the spells handiwork implicitly. “S’not often we— yaknow— schedule things. Not since the DA dissolved.” 

“Well— have any of you ever heard of a horcrux?” Harry asked, running a hand through his messy hair. 

Blank stares peered back at him from around the table. Hermione shuddered. Another thing she didn’t know. This wasn’t good at all. 

“Okay— well, er, so I went to Slughorn. With Dumbledore. He was hiding as an armchair, it was more than disturbing. But, uh, Dumbledore had me ask him for a memory. We watched it back, and a few of his own as well. Basically, when you kill someone— it fractures your soul. And through a spot of Dark magic, really dark, you can split a part of your soul away. A horcrux is something that’s got a bit of soul in it, and as long as it exists, the maker— Voldemort can’t die.” 

Ginny was the first to speak. “So Voldemort, he has a horcrux? And it enabled him to, well, come back from the dead?” 

“Yeah, kinda— I don’t entirely understand it but that’s the basics,” Harry said slowly, “but he doesn’t just have one, I don’t think. Dumbledore reckons he’s got seven.” 

“Seven?!” Hermione screeched. 

“Yeah— the diary, Ginny, your diary that possessed you? That was one of them.” 

“I—“ Her breath caught in her throat. “I was possessed, not just by a shadow, but by an actual piece of his soul?” 

“Um, yeah by the sounds of it. But that one was destroyed a while back, remember? Basilisk venom, it’s potent. And Dumbledore, he has this ring. He says it was the second. He got to that one.” 

“So that’s two,” Hermione mused, “and the part that’s still in him, that’s three. Does that mean… there are four more pieces out there?! Four more… fragments?” Her voice rose to a frantic pitch as her mind raced at the implications. “They could be anything! Pebbles in a river, a single Knut, how are we supposed to search the entire world for four secret evil objects, that appear like regular things until they possess you! That could take lifetimes! He’s coming back, now! He’s trying to rise again, and we have to find… how are we ever going to manage this!?” 

“Well s‘not like the big bad Dark wizard is gonna leave a piece of himself rotting away in a pebble, ‘Mione,” Ron snorted, “He’s way too proud for that. They’re probably fancy things, things with value to him. His old diary, some ring, that’s sentimental. He’s got a connection to these items somehow, surely. He’s way too egotistical to just throw his soul in a Knut and send it back in circulation.” 

“If he were smart,” Neville spoke softly, “he’d make them ordinary, little things. He’d hide them away, bury them, throw them in the ocean. But I think you’re right Ron.” His voice trembled slightly, but his expression firmed. “He’s too proud for that. After all, if he was smart, he would have just— chucked Harry out the window. It’s all dramatics, egos and flair with V-Voldemort. He sacrifices intelligence for showmanship every time.” 

“Dumbledore said a similar thing,” Harry interjected, his eyes gazing over their heads. “He said he had some theories as to what they might be, that he’s sharing at our next lesson. Right now though, I need you guys to research, if you can?” 

Hermione perked at the thought of research. This was something in her element, something she could handle. 

“We gotta figure out how he makes them, the process. Maybe there’s something in there to show us how to reverse it, destroy it. We can’t exactly lug around a basilisk with us in the hopes of getting it to eat the right thing.” Harry’s gaze lowered sharply, making eye contact with each of them in turn. “Once we destroy the other… pieces, he’s just a mortal man. No resurrection, no hanging on, just a man. Anything up until that point will be useless. If I’m gonna kill that bloody psycho, we have to destroy the horcruxes first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ginny and Neville should have been included from the beginning. I’ll die on that hill. Also, no cheesy “gasp Amortentia smells like you!” moments here. I love reading them, but writing them feels weird and fake somehow. Instead, you’ll get a subtle nod towards the end of the fic. Keep an eye out in another 25 chapters or so 🥰


	4. Chapter 4

“Harry?” Hermione asked softly, staying behind at the table for a moment while the others made their exit.

“Yeah?” He turned and faced her, his brows drawn with concern. 

“I— this is a lot.” She slumped her shoulders. “Magic used to be so beautiful. Seeing it used for such terrible things— it scares me. I’m scared, Harry.” 

He smiled briefly, warmth in his eyes. “I’m scared too, ‘Mione, you have to know that I'm scared witless. Some days I feel like I’m climbing a mountain with a backpack full of bricks. It’s just… it’s a lot. I can’t do it alone.” 

“I know, and you know I’m with you but—“ he nodded as she rushed ahead, “—you’re sixteen, and it’s not fair, and you’re out here chasing down a stupid comic book villain and I worry. I worry about you, Harry.” She looked deep into his eyes, searching them for any uncertainty. “I don’t want you to lose who you are trying to be what the world wants you to be. I don’t want to lose my friend. Please— just be safe as you can. Be cautious, okay? There’s big powers at work here, bigger than any of us.” 

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. “I promise. I’m not too keen on dying before I graduate, y’know. But— I have to keep going. I have to keep trying. I have to find some way to beat this, because if I don’t, everyone dies.” 

Hermione thought back to her first magical year at Hogwarts, the excitement and mystery of a whole new world, just begging to be discovered, feasts and laughter and learning and opportunities. Inactivity was as good as ripping that dream away from every child that would follow. It seemed worse than death, knowing that nobody after her would ever experience the warmth of the common room, hear the laughter of their classmates as a spell went awry. 

“We have to beat this, Hermione,” Harry spoke firmly, “We just have to. It’s not fair, it’s not okay by any means, but the cost is too great.” 

“Just— Don’t forget about us. Don’t forget you have help. You aren’t alone, and you never will be. We’re here too, Ron and I, Ginny, Neville, we’re with you, and we aren’t going to go down without a fight.” 

“I couldn’t do it alone,” he said warmly. 

“So… I’ll research horcruxes. Everything I can. I’ll fill you in on anything I find, maybe there’s a way to locate them— a way to seek them out and destroy them.” Her resolve hardened as she looked at the boy before her, too much responsibility at too young an age. “We will beat this, y’know. We just will.” 

Draco stood tall in the cluttered room, his shoulders back as he scanned his environment. ‘I need a way to get Death Eaters into Hogwarts’, and this comes up? What could possibly be of assistance in this massive, cluttered heap? How was he going to manage this?

He scanned the room, walking through and picking up little things along his way. An old Charms book, a vial of a sludgy potion. Couldn’t there just be like, a door or something? 

And then he saw it. A door. 

He strode towards it, knocking over a pile of discarded items in his haste. Tall and black, a little worse for wear, a cabinet. It thrummed with old magic, and he remembered the day the Weasley twins shoved that Slytherin inside. He had screamed until the door closed, and then his screams cut off. Everyone had assumed he was gone— vanished within the Vanishing Cabinet. Dumbledore had taken the cabinet from the classroom on the third floor, and hidden it away somewhere. Well, this was the room of Hidden Things, he guessed. 

The boy had been missing for two weeks, and they had thought him dead, or worse. Even the famous pranksters had felt remorse, slinking from class to class without causing any trouble for the first time anyone could remember. And then suddenly, like nothing had happened, he was back at Hogwarts. 

“It was terrible!” He said to anyone who would listen. “It was dark, a—and small, and I could hear the teachers trying to work things out and I kept screaming but they couldn’t hear me, they didn’t know where I was! And I was so hungry, and cold. After a while, I started beating on the walls around me, trying to bust my way out y’know? And I must have hit the right spot because eventually, it just burst open! I wasn’t in Hogwarts though,” he’d always say, lowering his voice and leaning in like he was telling a ghost story, “I fell out into the middle of Knockturn Alley, right in front of that shopkeeper, Borgan. He chased me out, and I owled Professor Snape, and got brought back here.” 

The boy had always gone on for hours about what he would do to the Weasley twins if given the chance, but everyone knew it was nothing but talk. Since his return, his magic had been weaker, like the cabinet had vanished some of his spirit within its depths. 

But regardless of the side effects, he went into the cabinet before Draco, and came out the other side. 

There were some kinks to work out, surely Bellatrix wouldn’t tolerate having to slam her way out of a dark cabinet to break into the school. But Draco could fix this. He could fix the cabinet, set the path, and make his family proud. 

He reached into his bag, pulling out a quill and parchment, and began to write to Borgan. 

‘Mr. Borgan, I hope this letter finds you well. I aim to purchase from you a cabinet I know you possess, black and two meters tall. A student popped out of it a while back, and I’ve found a use for it. Keep it in your shop, and know that payment will arrive shortly. Your assistance will be remembered fondly when the time comes.’ 

He frowned as he signed his name, the M in Malfoy curling across the page. 

How would he manage to fix this? In theory, all the pieces were there. A cabinet pathway, a twisted shop owner, a secret room in a castle. All that remained was him. His skill and knowledge. He had to fix the damned thing somehow, and he didn’t know where to start. 

Granger would probably know. She knew everything about everything, and had probably written an essay about the vanishing student just for the joy of it. But Draco couldn’t ask her. She’d go to the Headmaster, or her blasted Scarhead. She’d destroy it, and with the cabinet, him.

He wished he had her knowledge. Her voracious ability to devour any book or puzzle set before her, and retain it without any trouble. Draco was smart, smarter than most, but his family didn’t need ‘better than most’. They demanded the best, and next to her he could never be the best. He growled in frustration, throwing his quill into a pile across the way and hastily cramming the scribbled letter in an envelope. He had a lot of work to do. 

Draco ran his hands along the smooth interior of the cabinet. Although the outside was chipped and aged, the interior was untouched. He could feel the pulsing magic beneath his palms, strongest along the back wall. It wouldn’t be impossible, right? Vanishing Cabinets were rare, but not unheard of. And although he had never heard of two being connected as these were, this could not be the first occurrence. He would just have to hit the books for a while, see what he could discover. 

Throwing a sheet over the cabinet, picking up his quill from it’s precarious position upon a circlet, he strode out the room. Owlery first, to secure the other cabinet, and then off to the library. He had some work to do.


	5. Chapter 5

‘Patience is a virtue, but the championed virtue of the Malfoy house is devotion. Do not forget.’ 

Devotion wasn’t even a virtue. Did his father really think these letters weren’t crushingly obvious? Perhaps it was another trial. ‘Avoid anyone noticing the blatantly obvious subtext and avoid punishment’. His father could write a howler to scream THE DARK LORD IS WAITING FOR YOU TO LET US INTO THE SCHOOL, DRACO, and he would still take the fall for it. He was the one charged with secrecy, he was the one with the task. His father was simply a hand to write through, for the Dark Lord. 

Draco crumpled the paper in his palm, stowing it within the depths of his messy school bag. He swung his leg over the bench in the Great Hall and strode towards the door. Being so bluntly reminded of his timeline curdled breakfast. 

Twisting up his face into his patented ‘don’t bother me’ sneer, he walked quickly through the corridors towards the library. Doubtful to find a ‘how to create a portal between two magical cabinets to allow for the death of the headmaster’ he may be, but research was needed nonetheless. Draco scanned the signs on the corners of the tall shelves, looking for a category that might provide books of insight. He skimmed over ‘Charmed Items’ and ‘Housework Spells’ to settle upon ‘Magical Repair’. There had to be something here, right? 

He blinked the dust from his eyes and grabbed a handful of books with slight amounts of potential. The section itself was only 2 or 3 shelves on one large bookcase, but it was a start. 

Sitting down at a nearby table, he began to read. 

“What’s got your wand in a twist, Malfoy?” Hermione asked quietly, watching him take out needless aggression on the flobberworms he was mincing. 

He shot her a glare and she gulped. “My stressors are none of your business. Maybe if you focused more on your potion than my behavior, you wouldn’t be slipping behind Scarhead.” 

She glanced over at the cauldron across from his and rushed to fix the bubbling mess, adding the required ingredients just a few moments too late. It began to bubble over, so she lowered the heat and continued to stir. 

“You don’t have to be so cruel all the time, you know,” she muttered under her breath, “You’d think after six years of attacking anyone who looked at you, you’d figure out not to push people away.” 

He glared up from his flobberworms again, shoving them into his cauldron with a flourish. “To push people away, Granger, they have to be close to begin with. Don’t think for a moment you happen to be close to me.” 

“Closer than most, I’d reckon,” she spoke back coldly, “I may be the one person in our year that you regularly speak to. You torment me, constantly, but I let you, Malfoy. I allow you because if I didn’t, you wouldn’t speak to anyone, and I find that sad. Pathetic, really.” She scrunched her nose up at him, and bottled up her potion. 

Brushing her hair out of her eyes, she grabbed her bag and carried the vial up to Professor Slughorn’s desk. Draco watched her clench her book bag tightly as she waited for Slughorn to give her feedback. 

“Very good Miss Granger, but you need to keep a better eye on your temperature control. See the tint of blue? That shows a risk of scalding. Taking more time to let it simmer would be more effective than roasting it. Still, very good, very good indeed,” he rambled on, sniffing at the vial before him, “You know Mr. Potter added a sprig of rosemary to his earlier, helps the taste you see. I suggest you study with him when you get the chance, he really does have a gift you know. I bet he’d be delighted to help you… elevate your skills to the next level, dear. Still, very good. Exceeds Expectations.”

Draco watched her face turn red under her wildly frizzing tangle of hair. Clearly, she didn’t like being compared to Potter when it came to academics. She muttered a quick thanks to the professor and made a speedy exit. 

Slughorn stood up slowly and wiped the chalkboard clean with a wave of his wand. “Alright, that’s about enough for today. Run along to your next class, I’ll stasis your potions to be continued tomorrow.” 

The classroom echoed as everyone began conversing and gathering up their belongings. Draco headed for the door, ready to make his way to Transfiguration. 

Hermione pet the small ginger cat before her, mentally focusing on the cabinet she needed to create. She fought to keep her mind from drifting back to Slughorn and his double edged compliments. Studying with Harry to help HER do better? Never in six years had she leaned on any other student for her own academics. 

But she couldn’t focus on that right now. She had to focus on the cat, turning the soft ginger kitten into a cabinet. She closed her eyes for a moment, and pictured Ginny’s from the burrow. Knotted old wood, a sandy finish, years of scratches and dents in the surface. A slight burn mark on the left side, probably from the twins. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. 

Malfoy had already transfigured his cat, and was showing Professor Mcgonagall his progress. It was tall and sleek, black with inlaid silver trim in an intricate swirling pattern. A tuft of fur still poked out from within the large door, but other than that it was excellent. Under the professor’s supervision, he swished his wand and the wooden cabinet shrank back into itself, regrowing it’s fur and turning back into the small cat he had been presented with. 

She sucked in a sharp breath. There was no way she would be shown up again. Harry couldn’t do this, she was unmatched with her practical skills. Taking a step back from her ginger kitten, she focused all her energy into the cabinet in her mind, and muttered the incantation. 

The kitten began to grow, morphing in a strange boxy manner until it stood taller than her. The hair receded slowly, more and more of that sandy wood poking through underneath. It’s lips peeled back, showing frighteningly large teeth that began to recede as well. Hermione was transfixed, watching the cat morph before her. 

And then it stopped prematurely, teeth still glistening, patches of fur still smattered across the wood. No door on the front, the interior of the cabinet was covered in hair. It took one tentative step forward on its uneven tiny wooden feet, and then another. She gasped, and the cabinet roared. It began to rampage through the classroom, knocking over desks and chasing classmates through the chaos. A sinking feeling of failure settled in the pit of her stomach as Professor Mcgonagall turned sharply and ordered everyone out. She ran to the door, tears threatening to flood her eyes, and headed for the common room. 

Draco found her staring at the fire in the common room, tears glistening in her eyes. 

“You know, most everyone has gone down to dinner by now,” he said loudly. 

She didn’t move her gaze from the fire. “Go, then,” she said harshly. 

Draco cocked a brow at the venom in her voice, remembering her scathing comments in potions earlier. 

“You know Granger, I don’t really think you believe what you said earlier. You’re a smart girl, you know better than that.” 

She scoffed, finally turning to glare at him. 

“I don’t bully you because you let me. You know why I do what I do?” 

“Sure, enlighten me,” she growled. 

“I stick to myself for the most part, but your absolute lack of control draws me out of my apathy. You’re pathetic. You glided over on books for years, and now that you can’t skate by on overly long essays you crumble before us all. You don’t know magic, you know reading comprehension, Granger.” 

She gasped, and he barreled on, taking out his aggression on her in the only way he knew how. 

“You think if you read every damn book, know every obscure fact, you’ll somehow fit in here, don’t you? If you turn into a walking encyclopedia you’ll finally feel like you fit in? That’s wrong. That’s PATHETIC. You lack practical skills, the feeling and heart behind what you need to do, and you’ll struggle to fit in for the rest of your life. You’ll never feel at home here, because this isn’t your damn home. You’ll end up working as a book store clerk for the rest of your life and mourning your lost potential. That poor cat is more than enough proof of that. You don’t know how to do complicated spell work. You just know how to read.” 

He strode out the door, his mind back on his cabinet and the task before him. He was almost out of earshot when she began to sob.


End file.
